


Particular Attachments

by girabbit



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Canon Era, Deviation from historical timeline because what is research, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Will update tags later as this progresses pretty sure
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-08-19 23:22:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8228257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girabbit/pseuds/girabbit
Summary: John Laurens joins the Family as an official aide-de-camp in October of 1777. ***  That October, John came to them much like an Autumn gust, and with him came a realization that chilled Alexander straight through. It had been ages since Alexander had experienced the sting of complete vulnerability. It had taken him by surprise.





	1. October 1777

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated and edited this chapter 10/11/2016.
> 
> Thank you a million times to [ElfMaidenOfLight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElfMaidenOfLight/pseuds/ElfMaidenOfLight) for her beta work. I am grateful for all of your help and support!

That October, John came to them much like an Autumn gust, and with him came a realization that chilled Alexander straight through. It had been ages since Alexander had experienced the sting of complete vulnerability. It had taken him by surprise.

The General had plucked John from the front lines of battle and dropped him headfirst into secretarial affairs, citing the bullet that had caught his right shoulder as sufficient cause for rest. Alexander was informed enough to know that the real reason for this transfer had been a pleading letter from Henry Laurens, John’s father and a key member of the Continental Congress. John knew it, too, and while he acted the gentleman and worked ferverously to match Alexander’s exhausting pace, Alexander sensed that he was privately dissatisfied to be taking up a quill in place of a musket.

Being that his feelings on his own situation were much the same, Alexander sympathized.

Though they had only just started to get to know each other, John already began to occupy a grand space in his thoughts. Alexander was with brimming with the sorts of feelings that he had always tried his damnedest to smother under layers of wit, sarcasm, and determination to escape his social situation.

If he didn’t know himself better, Alexander might have been able to blame the tremor in his leg on the way the air inside the aides’ marquee had cooled with the setting sun. He eyed John unassumingly from across the table they shared, keeping his face bent as if he were inspecting his copybook. John dunked his quill into the pot of ink they had rationed between them, face stern, jaw set as he concentrated on his own composition.

“What is it?” John asked without looking up, startling Alexander’s eyes back to his page. When Alexander did not choose to acknowledge his question, John tried again. “Is something the matter?”

“No, nothing,” Alexander kept his tone even. “I was just wondering how you were progressing. I’m nearly finished with this.”

An affirmative grunt was John’s first response, but as he placed a period at the end of a sentence, he wet his lips and spoke, still not looking up. “As am I with this. Shall we retire after we’ve finished, or did you have it in mind to keep going? I can have more candles brought.”

“No,” Alexander replied with barely-concealed fatigue as he checked to see if the ink on his page was dry. He didn’t bother to glance to their side where other, less pressing correspondence was piled haphazardly. Usually he would have not hesitated to accept the tepid offer to continue working, but this night he thought kindly on sleep. Maybe if Alexander could sink down deep enough into his bedroll, he might be able to forget John altogether until the next morning.

“Best to sleep soon and rise early. The light will be better. How is your shoulder?”

Signing his name to the bottom of his letter, John put down his quill. He tested his shoulder, rolling it, and Alexander could tell that it was stiff after having been engaged for hours at the writing table. “I am fine, but I will be more productive tomorrow with some rest.” Breathing in, he nodded at his paper and looked to Alexander. “And you haven’t slept properly since I’ve come. Does my presence disturb your routine?”

“There’s simply so much work to do.” Alexander meant to meet John’s eyes with something of a charming smirk, but as he did so he felt suddenly too exposed. He turned away sharply, tapping his fingers on the desk. “Truly, I think I have slept better since His Excellency has brought you on.”

It was a boldfaced lie. To his credit John said nothing, though Alexander was certain he saw through it.

They made quick work tidying their workspace and preparing to leave the marquee. John blew out the last candle as Alexander held open the flap for them, exposing the well-lit campsite. With a grateful bow of his head, John passed through the tight space first. He skillfully avoided bumping into Alexander, but as he cut in close, Alexander could not contain a shiver.

“Hamilton, are you cold?” John asked, concerned, when Alexander shut the flap and they began to walk together towards the tent where they were to sleep.

“A little,” Alexander conceded, glad to have the temperature as a scapegoat.

“It will only get worse with winter. I am not overly fond of the cold, either. It didn’t snow often at Mepkin…  and it mustn’t have snowed at all where you are from.” Alexander bristled at the reminder of his childhood, and as if sensing Alexander’s discomfort, John continued quickly. “I’ve acquaintances from St. Kitts who speak French in much the same accent as you. Which of the islands were you from?.”

“Have you… heard things from the others?” Alexander questioned, paranoid as to what stories the other aides-de-camp must have been telling about his heritage. He had not shared any details about his past, not specifically, but Alexander knew that would hardly stop the speculations.

John sounded earnest to abate Alexander’s fears. “Not at all. As I said, I recognized your manner of speech. I apologize if it is not a subject that you wished to discuss. I… did not realize.”

“I was born on Nevis,” Alexander answered finally. “But I have experienced enough New York winters to have grown used to them by now. There is no cause for concern, I can assure you.”

Whether or not there was cause for concern was never determined, for at that moment they passed by a group of other aides gathered around a small fire. Alexander rarely joined them in the evenings, but John was more friendly and sociable. Thinking that John might stop to converse, Alexander prepared himself to continue on alone. Losing John to the others would give him a chance to fall asleep without distraction. It would keep his mind from wandering to those cold, forbidden places it shouldn’t.

However, John merely addressed the group of men with a generous “Evening, gentleman!” and continued on.  Alexander echoed John’s sentiment with less enthusiasm. There were several greetings exchanged, but none of the men invited either of them to join in.

In just a few more steps Alexander and John had entered their tent. While John made quick work of lighting their lantern, Alexander busied himself getting ready for bed. He arranged his coat neatly over the trunk and loosened his stock from his neck.

“Damn.” Alexander heard John mutter under his breath, and he spun to look for the origin of the frustration.

“What is it, Laurens?”

“Help me out of my coat, will you?” He huffed. “These bandages have not only impeded my range of motion, they have made it utterly impossible for me to take it this damn thing off unaided.”

Alex had to suppress a smile. He sounded like a frustrated boy.

It was dangerously endearing .

These sentiments were swiftly replaced with apprehension as Alexander took a step closer. They had taken close quarters since John had been made an official aide-de-camp nearly a week before, but other than an initial welcome by shaking of hands, Alexander had never needed to _touch_ John before. Not on purpose. Several times at their shared desk they had unwittingly bumped boot to boot, or went to reach for fresh ink on the tabletop and touched fingers, but this was different. Alexander cursed at himself for the way his pulse quickened at John’s request.

“Right, of course,” was all Alexander could manage.

“Just tug on this sleeve,” John said, and Alexander took the cuff of John’s uniform coat firm in his grip. The backs of their palms brushed together, and Alexander felt his chest tighten with anticipation. At the same time John made a small, pained hiss, rolling his shoulder to try and loosen the tight fabric there.

Alexander motioned for John to face him. Tenderly, he helped him out of the other sleeve first. In a few careful motions, Alexander held John’s coat in his hands, John standing in his waistcoat.

He took his coat from Alexander. “Thank you,” he said quietly, as if suddenly embarrassed to have sought assistance. This broke the temporary allowance for closeness; Alexander stepped back stiffly.

The only other words they exchanged before settling into their respective cots were quiet goodnights. Alone, under his blanket of wool, Alexander shook. John was so close to him in the dark, he thought, until at last exhaustion overtook him and he fell into a restless slumber.  


***

Sometimes, Alexander would dream of the hurricane, but this was different. The setting was not in his room at St. Coix, but rather back at the desk in the aides’ marquee. He was translating a letter from France. _La volonté de l'homme_ , it read in thick bold penmanship that Alexander could not recognize.

Across from him sat John, but John was not wearing his uniform coat, and his arm was slung uselessly in his sash. His shoulder bloomed red with blood. John must have been telling him something, because his lips were moving as though he was speaking, but Alexander could hear not a word of what he was saying.

Wind roared outside, and the canvas of the marquee began to sway. John did not seem to notice, even as the papers of the desk began to swirl and blow away, even as the pot of ink tipped over in a long, black stain, and quills clattered to the ground.

The howl of air around them became deafening.

Alexander tried to extend his hand, but the wind had grown too strong, and he was unable to move as it tore at him, icy and unforgiving.

“Laurens!” he called, as the walls of the marquee gave way.

“Laurens!” he tried again in vain to reach out as the wind began to pull John away.   


***

“Laurens!”

Hands on his shoulders shook Alexander awake. “I am here, I am here,” said John through the dark. Gasping, Alexander threw him off. John fell back with an undignified yelp.

After more than a few deep breaths, Alexander finally came to his senses. “Laurens?” he asked, sitting up and pushing off his blanket. He was slick with cold sweat from his nightmare.

“Yes, Hamilton?” came John’s apprehensive voice from the ground.

“I…”

“You were having a dream.”

“Yes,” Alexander agreed, “I…”

There was no light in their tent, and Alexander struggled to discern the outline of John’s profile through the dark. There was obvious worry in his voice. “You called for me. I thought you might be ill. Are you ill?”

“No, I’m fine… I...” His voice stalled, embarrassed for having cried out for the other man. “My apologies for waking you.”

John shifted, pulling himself from the ground and sitting down on the cot next to Alexander. “None necessary. We have all seen things we mightn't have wished to in this war. Was it very gruesome?” John must have thought the had been a dream set on the battlefield, and perhaps those were the types of nightmares that plagued John. He’d seen more action in the war than Alexander even if he’d not been a part of it for as long, but even as an aide-de-camp Alexander too had witnessed firsthand men fall under volleys of bullets.

They sat shoulder to shoulder, though John had made sure to sit to Alexander’s right side, leaving his wound unperturbed.

“When I was a boy, a hurricane destroyed my home,” Alexander explained quietly, surprising himself when he told the truth. “I dreamt it came to us, here, and that you were caught in it and I could not save you.”

John’s hand met Alexander’s in the dark, affectionate and chaste. His fingers covered Alexander’s and gave them reassuring squeeze. “We are safe tonight,” he said quietly, and stayed his place next to Alexander.

“Did it hurt?” Alexander asked John after a moment, wishing to change the subject. “Getting shot?”

“Of course it hurt!” John sounded amused, not patronizing. “It’s not as bad as I suppose it could have been. It really isn’t much of a wound as you’d think. Surely not enough to account for…” He trailed off, and Alexander was sure that John had stopped himself from launching into a complaint.

Their hands touched still. Alexander tried his best not to move, trying to relish the contact while he was able. He had to be careful with such a friendly sign of compassion. When he spoke again, it was with more tact than he was apt to show the other aides. “They say we do our service by assisting the General,” he returned, thoughtfully, “but I wait eagerly for the day when he’ll entrust me with my own command.”

“I hope, then, that the day comes soon. No one else here can write as handsomely as you, nor can they can match your skill with French. As the General says, he requires you to stay with him.”

“I must admit that when I first met you, I hoped that you would be my replacement,” Alexander said with a small smile. “And of all the others, you’re certainly the one most adept… though now I do not wish that on you. Maybe there will be a day when the both of us will be ordered to lead in battle.”

John was serious in his reply; “I will wish for it, too, dire a day as it would have to be.”

Silence fell on them again, and Alexander realized that, while he was chilled from his nightmare, his ears and cheeks had grown quite warm. He was very glad that John couldn’t tell. “Your father believes he is doing the right thing. If I were your father, I suppose I would do my best to keep you safe, too.”

When John did not reply, Alexander feared that he had overstepped his bounds. Eager to break the silence, Alexander went on. “Then again, I wouldn’t know.”  
  
“My father knows that I am not afraid to die to have freedom prevail, but I don’t believe he sees the honor in it as I do. He would think my death was needless, that I was foolhardy. If he had his way, I would still be in England.” The defiance in his voice broke to a degree, replaced with just a hint of shame,“I went against his wishes when I enlisted.” The words came from somewhere deeply private within John. Alexander did not find happiness in John’s quarrel, but he at least felt a little pleased that John had chosen to share it with him.  

“To die on the battlefield for a cause that one believes in, what could be more noble than that?”

John squeezed his hand again. “So you understand.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.”

“Hamilton,” John’s voice dropped to a hoarse whisper, “I do believe you are cold. You’re shaking again.”

Alexander took a moment to answer; his heart pounding so loudly in his ears that he was almost sure John could hear it, too.

“So I am,” he wondered aloud, whisper matching John’s.

“And no doubt you are exhausted. The two of us must try to get some sleep.”

Shifting his weight to prepare to stand, John let go of Alexander’s hand, only to find Alexander grabbing at his wrist. He searched out Alexander’s face in the dark, confused, as Alexander tried to find the correct words. “Laurens,” he began, but faltered, unsure.

“Yes?” John asked, and Alexander wanted to cry out for how decent and pure John made the word sound.

He could not help himself from taking advantage of John’s kindness.

“Will you? Well,” he sputtered, hating how desperate he sounded. “I would feel you were safer if you… what I mean to say is, I don’t think the dream will return tonight if you’re here next to me.”

John shifted closer to Alexander again. “Yes. Yes, of course,” he said, as if the idea made the most sense in the world.

They both retreated under the wool of Alexander’s blanket and settled there awkwardly, positioning themselves with their backs touching, John with his bad shoulder facing towards the ceiling of the tent.

It was Alexander who slept first; a small smile had found its way to his slumbering lips. Alexander would have never predicted that it would have been John who lie awake for a time, eyes wide open and fists clutched anxiously into his chest.


	2. November 1777

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to extend the greatest of thanks to [ElfMaidenOfLight](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ElfMaidenOfLight/pseuds/ElfMaidenOfLight) for her very helpful skills as a beta. The first and second drafts of this chapter were vastly improved by your insight and advice! Thank you!

November brought controversy in the form of mail from Philadelphia.  It was mid-afternoon, and the aides’ marquee was occupied by all of the aides-de-camp who had not been sent away on errands. When the messenger arrived, he presented John with a neatly-wrapped parcel. Untying its string, John discovered that what had appeared to be one letter, was actually two.

The larger of the two, addressed to John in big, bold strokes, had been written by his father. He read it hastily, expecting to find good news. They had all been hoping for confirmation that money for more supplies had been granted to the army now that Henry Laurens was acting president of the Congress.

As John read, he grew sombre. By the time he started in on the second letter, written on different paper and by an unfamiliar hand, he was frowning, his thumb to his lips. When he’d finished, John rested both letters on the table with a troubled sigh. It was  then that Alexander noticed the stark change in his mood.

Whatever the letter contained didn’t bode well, Alexander thought. The other aides had been tending to their own assignments, but upon seeing John’s distress, worried glances were exchanged all around.

Alexander set aside his writing.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, reaching across to pull the letters into his view.

Having spent a month working together, and being brought into John’s trust, Alexander recognized what kind of mood letters from his father could provoke in him. 

“Read it-- it’s foul,” said John, shaking his head. “Certain unnamed members of Congress are plotting to depose our dear General.”

At the words, Tilghman and Meade rose and gathered behind Alexander, anxious to read the letters as well.

“Traitors and cowards,” Alexander concluded upon examining both dispatches.  His chest burned with the same barely-contained anger that shone in John’s eyes. “How can they have so little understanding of what he has accomplished with how little has been granted him?”

Tilghman agreed, “Your father writes that he does not know the identity of the author of the slanderous letter. It must be investigated!” Meade nodded.

John looked his most handsome when engaged in a conflict for which he fought passionately, Alexander thought.  He certainly was handsome in this moment, as he resolutely squared his jaw, his cheeks pink with outrage. “I must take the letters directly to the General, of course,” he paused, “I am worried that he will choose to ignore this slander, as he has done previously.”

After failure at the last few major battles, the General had become a controversial figure, but knowing him and working under him, they all trusted in his ability to lead. General Washington could be the only one to assure their victory. “We must make sure he _defends_ himself! This,” he motioned to the letter, “is a real threat. My father would not have attached it otherwise.”

Meade handed the letters back to John, and Alexander studied him as he folded them both, stuffing them into the pocket inside the breast of his coat. He stood with the parting salutation, “Gentlemen.” His eyes fixed on Alexander, who had immediately stood to follow him.

“Let me go with you,” Alexander said, and while he phrased his sentence as though it were a request, he didn’t intend on backing down, no matter how John protested. “Together he may find our argument stronger.”

“They’ll be no stopping our Mister Hamilton now,” Meade quipped, “Laurens, make sure he lets you get at least two words in.”

Tilghman’s hands were on his hips, “With the both of you gone, who is going to work on the documents from France?”

“That honor falls to you, Dear Tilghman,” Alexander said with a wave of his hand and a bow, and John stifled a laugh, forgetting his seriousness for a brief moment.

As they walked from the marquee, John sucked in his breath and gave Alexander an appreciative nod. They set off towards the General’s headquarters, which was set just up a slight incline. Alexander had to double his steps to match John’s sure-footed pace. Their boots crunched against fallen leaves as they approached their destination.

Alexander stopped them just out of earshot from the guards posted at the headquarter’s entrance. He placed his hand on the small of John’s back, leaning in. “You present him with the letters and give him some insight on your father’s character. Let him know that he has your father’s backing. Then, leave the convincing to me. I’ve known him longer and have more influence on his opinions, I think.”

John made a face, tilting his head to the side. “Let me first say what I will. You may find that I can be persuasive if given the chance.”

“Can you?” Alexander deadpanned, but when John puffed his chest indignantly, he cracked a smile. “Alright. You’ve got my full support.”

Ruefully, John returned the smile and folded his arms behind his back. They continued forward, the guards announcing their arrival to the General before they were ushered inside.

  
***

Several hours later, they found themselves huddled together in Alexander’s cot, deep in conversation about the day’s events. Since the night of Alexander’s first nightmare, they often shared the small space in the evenings. It had become somewhat of a routine, much to Alexander’s delight. It was, after all, only practical to fight the cold together.

They lay facing each other, blankets pulled up to their chins. Underneath, Alexander’s hand was resting on John’s shoulder, his fingers absently playing at the loose fabric of John’s shirt. Mercifully, John had healed almost completely. His arm no longer needed wrapping, nor did John wince when it was touched.

“To think that the General was already aware of the plot against him,” Alexander said lazily. “You were lucky he barely needed any convincing at all.”

John laughed, scrunching up his nose. “I was lucky? The impudence! Still, it was obvious enough that what you said about your influence on him is true. He values your council greatly.”

Even if Alexander already knew the truth in John’s words, he was happy to hear them. His lips twitched into a smile. When John complimented him, Alexander grew bold in ways that others might have found off-putting. He couldn’t help it.  

John-- good, _noble_ John, either reciprocated Alexander’s feelings or was too pure to have noticed them.

Alexander couldn’t quite decide which.

“He’s growing to trust you, as well,” Alexander countered.

“And while he ordered you off, I am stuck at camp writing letters to my father,” John closed his eyes for a moment. Alexander felt the ghost of a touch at his elbow before John shook himself out of some distant thought, fingers retreating.

“What you were asked to do, no one else could. None of us could have more sway over him than you, not even the General himself.” His thumb brushed against the bump of John’s scar, the only remnant of his wound.

“You must ride carefully tomorrow,” John whispered, diverting the conversation.  His face drew closer to Alexander, who paused in his ministrations, watching the other man’s lips move, transfixed. “I wish that we had enough men to spare for me to go with you. I shall expect a full report on how General Gates’ face will burn upon the delivery of His Excellency’s letter.” Sucking in his breath, John held in a chuckle.

General Washington had ordered Alexander to find General Horatio Gates and urge him to send them more soldiers. There were simply not enough troops to hold their current position. Despite Gates’ assurances, reinforcements had not yet shown.

“I won’t be gone for a week! And I will come back to you with all of the details. In that time, I’ll expect you to have written to your father every day.” Alexander looked from John’s lips to his eyes. He smiled reassuringly.  

“He will be overwhelmed by my praises for His Excellency,” John said confidently. “Shall I also mention the fearless Alexander Hamilton?”

Alexander chest stirred, sensing John’s playful undertone. He soaked up the praise, but tried with half-sincere modesty to deflect it. “We have yet to establish my worth.”

“Perhaps _you_ have yet to establish it,” John teased.  “I, however, already know where our camp would be without you.” The earnest tone in John’s statement drew warmth into Alexander’s fingers and toes. John held Alexander’s gaze.

Feeling suddenly greedy, and wishing to be further indulged, Alexander steadied his hand on John’s shoulder. “Will you miss me while I’m away?”

John responded instantly, “Of course.”

“Then I shall go as quickly as I can, as not to keep you waiting long.”

Alexander brought their bodies closer. Their cheeks brushed together, and Alexander took in John’s scent with a small sigh. Despite deteriorating conditions in the camp, John still held himself to a certain level of vanity, meticulous in his personal routine. He smelt uniquely masculine and clean.

“You must come back safely to us,” John murmured, breath tickling Alexander’s neck. “It won’t do if you get hurt or captured. I won’t stand for it.” His hands had moved to mimic Alexander’s, but where Alexander’s grip was solid, John seemed reluctant to hold tight.

Both were aware Alexander could make no promises.

Instead, Alexander answered by shifting his body again, and they now touched forehead to forehead, nose to nose. This was the moment to act!

“Laurens,” Alexander sighed, holding the other man’s gaze before pressing his mouth to John’s.

John froze immediately; Alexander could feel his body tense. The reaction stung. Pulling back, Alexander tried to meet John’s gaze, but the John was looking past him. Alexander’s pulse quickened in a different way. He had not been expecting rejection.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized quietly. Damn, he must have misconstrued the nature of John’s companionship.

“No, don’t be sorry.” John had not broken away, but neither was he showing any signs of reciprocation. Alexander did not know what to think.

“I thought you might like that. Was I wrong?”

“Hamilton,” said John with a self-deprecating smile, small and unsure. “I did like it-- I like you-- rather more than I should, I think.”

The confession made the air in Alexander’s throat stick. When he saw no maliciousness in John’s eyes, he moved in to kiss him again, but was surprised when John brought his hand quickly to Alexander’s lips to stop him.

“I cannot bear it. It will be too much for me when you realize what a mistake you’ve made.”

“What do you mean?”

Unable to find more words, John shook his head cryptically.

“You misunderstand my intentions if you believe for a moment that I am not firm in my attachment to you,”  Alex implored, taking hold of John’s hip, pulling him close to feel the heat that had built between his legs. Alexander could barely contain himself when John groaned softly.

Alexander’s tongue darted out to brush against the fingers stilled on his lips.

“Are you sure?” John voice strained as he asked, and in that moment Alexander promised himself that whatever hesitation had been holding John back, he’d make certain it was forgotten.

“Yes.”

Gently, Alexander’s fingers grasped onto John’s, guiding them to rest against his jaw before he settled his own hand at the nape of John’s neck. Much to Alexander’s relief, when he kissed John a second time, the kiss was returned.

Alexander’s hand trailed down to cup his friend’s backside, pulling them closer together still. Another groan cut through the quiet, but Alexander was not sure from which of them it had originated.

Kissing John was more wonderful than Alexander could have imagined, though admittedly, he’d been imagining it from near the moment they had met. But even as he grew more adventuresome, John still seemed timid. Certainly, Alexander told himself, John’s enthusiasm would soon show itself.

Perhaps, Alexander reasoned, John was not as experienced in matters of the heart as with matters of the State. Alexander had known well the intimate company of women, but this was the first time he had found himself in such close contact with a body so similar to his own.

Possibly John had limited experience with either sex? Well, he should make it his duty to help acquaint the man. He guided them along best he could, kissing, touching, grinding, until finally he felt there was only one way to advance. Alexander moved to hitch down John’s trousers.

He was met with an unforeseen protest. Instead of allowing him access, John broke their kiss with soft cry, body jerking away. He was off of the cot like a shot.

“Laurens,” Alexander, face flushed, was taken aback by the frustrated growl in his own voice, “what are you playing at?”

Instead of answering, John was already fixing his clothes, grabbing for his uniform coat. He fumbled to put it on as he made his way to the entrance of their tent, untying the knots that held it closed.

“Laurens!” Alexander sat up, exclaiming, but then continued more sympathetically, “…John?”

John escaped the tent without looking back.

Alexander rubbed his face in disbelief. He’d been too rushed, perhaps, but had John’s want not matched his own? Had he ruined everything?

Much to Alexander’s dismay, John did not return that evening, nor the next morning. He was nowhere to be found as Alexander packed up and headed off on his mission to find General Gates.

  
***

Bad weather turned a week’s journey into two-and-a-half. Alexander rode back into camp on a foggy late-November morning with a full regiment behind him, buoyed by the successful in shaming of General Gates to action.

“Your efforts on my part are much appreciated, Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton,” General Washington congratulated. He’d come out to meet Alexander when his men had alerted him of his aide’s return. “I am happy to have you back with us. We had only hoped that it had been the rain that was keeping you away.”

“Yes, sir,” Alexander replied, “That is, the rain had rendered a great many of the roads impassible. The men have been through a long and muddy march, but I believe they have arrived in good spirits.”

“Very good. I trust they will be properly seen after?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Then may I suggest you take a moment to see after yourself. Have something proper to eat,” the General said in his gentle, fatherly way. Typically, this would have annoyed Alexander. He disliked it when General Washington babied him, but he’d lived off of fire cakes and broth for too many days to protest.

Alexander found himself at the officer’s mess, and the cook served him with compliments. He feasted ravenously on meat and potatoes, but as he took his last bites, his gut began to ache.

It was his nerves. He’d been able to repress them while he was away, but there was no avoiding them now. Whether he chose to return to work or rest off his ride, John Laurens would be waiting. There was nowhere to hide.

He may not wish to see you again, Alexander warned himself.

Alexander made his way to the aides’ marquee, defenses raised, ready to feel the bite of cool unfamiliarity rather the warmth he’d become use to sharing with John. When he entered, it was Meade who met him with an enthusiastic hug. John was not about, and their desk was bare. His chair was gone, too. Puzzled, Alexander turned to face Meade for an answer.

“He’s been quite morose since you left. Spent most hours with His Excellency at first, but for the last few days no one has been able to pry him from his tent.” Mead’s lips thinned into a stern line. “He’s insisted on taking up his work there. He won’t let anyone see him, not even for meals.” The man shook his head in frustration.  “He is not acting himself at all.”

“I’ll go to him,” Alexander gave a hurried thanks, and sprung from the aides’ marquee. He had to stop himself from running outright, not wishing to stir up attention from others around him. Trying to stop his hands from shaking, he found entrance to their tent.

When he stepped inside, he was struck by the sight of John hunched over the box that they had been using as a dressing table. He had converted it to a makeshift desk and was working at what looked to be a feverous pace, papers scattered messily around him.

All of their personal items, once settled atop the dressing table, were now taking up space on John’s neatly made cot. His own cot was unmade, though Alexander distinctly recalled having left it tidy.

Startled by the presence of another, John swung to look at him.

For a moment, neither of them knew what to say.

“Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton,” John said finally, relief clear in his tone.

At the same time, Alexander spoke over him, “You look terrible!” In fact John did look worse than Alexander could ever remember having seen him. His eyes were rung with circles and a gray shadow had appeared on his lip and chin.

Alexander steadied himself as John stood, embarrassed.

“I acted callously when I was not there to see you off,” John said, “Please forgive me?”

Was there to be no mention of the abrupt exit he had made? John looked truly sorry, but Alexander felt heavy with the formality that John was showing him.

“My dear Laurens,” Alexander said, wishing that John would follow his example. “All is forgiven. But you must know that you both surprised and frightened me, when I had taken such liberties, perhaps too many liberties, in revealing my affections for you.”

Stepping back, John bumped against his chair. He frowned, trapped. “I…” he started, then paused. “I am very sorry if I have offended your pride. I did not think that you could truly…”

Alexander was unable to follow. He stood his ground, moodiness rising in him. “That I could truly?” he mimicked, urging John to complete the thought.

“Loneliness can drive men to do strange things,” John amended. “You are my friend, indeed you have already become my dearest friend yet, and someone within whom I can place my trust. But to be anything more would place you in great danger. We must not distract ourselves from our duties- I could think of nothing else in these past seventeen days but your safe return. I have made myself ill over it.”

When Alexander took a step forward, John swallowed nervously, and he thought it best not to advance further. “But if we can depend on each other completely, if we can think and act as one, if we are but separate extensions of the same heart, then that is to our advantage, not to our disadvantage!”

“You do not know what you’re saying,” John warned.

“I know exactly what I am saying,” Alexander returned intensely.

John’s hands went behind his body, grabbing onto the top of his chair. He fidgeted, caught. “Please believe me when I tell you that I am not worthy of your affections. You may, in some capacity, love me, but you risk too much if you were to become… _afflicted_ as I am.”

It finally dawned on Alexander. While John was the first man he had ever been so seriously infatuated with, Alexander was not John’s first. The reluctance John had to return his kisses, to allow himself to be lost in desire, was now explained.

Alexander’s words, though argumentative, were soft. “I know that when I kissed you, it was not wrong. You cannot tell me that what we feel is unnatural.”

“To me, nothing could feel _more_ natural,” John confessed. “But we both know that does not matter. Hamilton. Please. Accept my friendship, but let us not pursue anything beyond that.”

John’s face held such a hopeless expression that Alexander found himself defeated. “Of course, dear Laurens. If that is truly what you wish.” He held back his disappointment better than he’d thought himself capable, but then again, Alexander had always been skilled at adapting to unfortunate situations.

His smile, though forced, was kind. “Let’s get everything set back where it belongs. I will help you finish up your copies, and then, I think, shall force you to retire.”

“You’re the one who deserves the rest,” John protested.

“Then I will, but so must you. Do not make me have the General order you himself. Come, hand me your chair.”

They reestablished themselves in the aides’ marquee that afternoon. With Meade for company, they were able to avoid each other.

Relentlessly, both men threw their passion into their assignments. Despite efforts on both sides to be friendly, in the ongoing weeks conversations between them grew thin and forced. Every night, even when the first snow came, they slept each in their own cot.

Alexander thought he had never been so miserable since the beginning of the war.


End file.
